


Bite

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Silmarillion prompts & short fic [12]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Catharsis, Drabble, Implied Sexual Content, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Prompt Fic, Transformation, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:03:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Caranthir has put up with enough in his long life- the Oath, the deaths of most of his family, and being turned into a vampire as he lay dying chief among them. He sees no reason to put up with a wolf invading his bed.





	Bite

**Author's Note:**

> From a list of prompts over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). I'll be open for prompts during the month of October, [prompt list can be found here.](https://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com/post/188070961614/halloween-themed-prompts-open)

Carnistir stares flatly at the fluffy golden wolf that has invaded his bed. The wolf looks up at him innocently, tongue lolling from its mouth in a happy expression. Of all the many and varied things that have occurred in his long life, this is up there on the list of the absurd. It almost feels nostalgic, to be perfectly honest. 

"Get out of my bed." He tells the beast flatly, baring his fangs at it. The wolf contrives to look startled. Carnistir isn't in the mood. He hasn't had a sip of blood in months and while he generally tries to take blood from creatures able to consent, the upsetting hunger gnaws at his throat. The wolf, rather perversely, settles in further. Carnistir growls at it, and shoves at its bulk so he can worm his way in anyway. This isn't a wolf, clearly, it's an overgrown cat. The wolf snaps at him, clearly surprised again, and unhappy with this new development. Carnistir levels with a flat look. 

"I am centuries old. You need to do more than that to get rid of me.” He tells it, and the wolf lets out a sigh, flopping atop him. 

Carnistir is determined not to be moved by the soft, furry body lying atop him. It's been so long, though, since he had positive, long term contact with any other being. Or perhaps his mind thinks this is Huan, because he finds himself in a light doze, actually petting the beast. There's something snarled in the thick golden ruff of its neck fur. He touches it, and almost flinches away from the malevolent magic embedded in freezing cold metal. Metal that shouldn't  _ be _ cold, given the wolf's ambient body heat. The wolf whines softly. 

"Get off," he tells it, and this time it obeys. He sits up and turns to his satchel, finding a small pair of iron-shears. He doesn't know why he has these- sentiment, probably, because the put him in mind of his father and his brother. The wolf holds obediently still as he clips the remains of a beautiful, cursed necklace from its throat. Once the last link in unsnarled from its neck, there is no longer a wolf sitting patiently beside him, but a being trapped between wolf and elf. A being he knows.

"Findaráto?" He asks cautiously. Findaráto blinks wide, mismatched eyes at him, and how had he not noticed the wolf had the same eyes, one blue and one green? The wolf's ears that sit high upon his elvish skull prick forward attentively, and the tail that curls around bare hips gives a slight, hopeful wag.

"Carnistir," his voice is hoarse and soft, and cracks on the syllables like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Which he likely hasn't, Valar above. 

"What happened to you?" He asks softly, and Findaráto gives him a shaky smile. 

"I could ask the same of you," he retorts, but lets the story unfold, quiet and horrific. He had not died in the pit, but become a werewolf, and Sauron had happened across him and locked him in that form with a cursed replica of the Nauglamir. Carnistir listens quietly, giving him space. With what has happened to both of them, the animosity that he had laid between them no longer makes sense. Carnistir aches too keenly for gentle touch and companionship. Findaráto gives him a quiet, penetrating look when he's done, and Carnistir lets out a soft, almost shaky sigh. 

"We attacked Doriath, because they rejected Nelyo's petition to return the Silmaril your actions helped Beren steal from Morgoth no less than three times. I'm not proud of what we did, but the Oath burned at us, burned at our very minds. I was struck down, but not killed outright. When the battle was over, before anyone could even think of reclaiming bodies, the vampires slunk in. They feasted from the corpses, and from those not yet dead. My knife was still in hand, and when a vampire came for me I was able to flag its throat while it fed from me. I know not whether it was the blood that fell in my mouth doing so, or the simple act of killing it that transferred its curse to me, but I survived, and fled. I've taken care not to get too close to civilization since then, as I imagine you have as well." Carnistir doesn't look at Findaráto as he speaks, aware of his own shame. 

Findaráto merely hums, though, and his hands are warm when they find Carnistir's shoulders. He embraces Carnistir, brings his face gently down into the golden fur that still decorates his throat and shoulders. Carnistir resists. 

"I'm too thirsty," he protests, frowning at Findaráto's disregard for his own safety. 

"Then drink," Findaráto tells him gently. "I'm a werewolf, I have strength enough remove you, if you drink too deeply." Carnistir lets out a shuddering sigh. Not the throat- too much fur. The crook of the elbow then, the wrist carries too much danger of damaging tendons, and the thigh- too intimate, especially in Findarato's state of undress. Additionally, his legs seem to be those of a wolf from the hip down and again, too furry. 

He turns himself in Findaráto's hold, letting himself be drawn into his lap, with his shoulder against Findaráto's chest. He holds Findaráto's arm carefully, and licks the spot he'll bite, gentle and intimate. His jaw almost aches when he finally lets his fangs slice trough tender skin. Findarato's breath hitches and a rough, clawed hand rests against the curve of Carnistir's neck, where his hair has slid away to reveal pale skin. He doesn't pull Carnistir away, though, his claws just a watchful pricking of his skin. Carnistir drinks, the rich heat of Findaráto's blood across his tongue somehow more fulfilling than his usual, sparse meals. 

He pulls back after a while, lapping the small wounds to seal them, and meets Findarato's eyes. He knows his own are crimson, now, instead of the indistinct hazel they had been when he had been but an elf. Findarato's own eyes are dilated, the color jewel-bright rims against a sea of black. His hand still rests, hot and heavy against the back of Carnistir's neck, and it's irresistible when Findaráto finally drags him into a hot, biting kiss. Carnistir's blood mingles with Findaráto's in their mouths, as teeth nick lips and tongue, and he hangs on desperately, desire growing in him. 

That desire sears him, when Findaráto bears them both down onto Carnistir's ragged bed and brings them both to screaming climax. When they curl together, moonlight streaming in through the rough door over the cave entrance, that desire sits warm and sated, more tender now within his breast. He sinks his hands into Findarato's fur and sleeps, content for the first time in centuries.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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End file.
